Heather's Busy Week Pt. 01

PROLOGUE

(Friday, 18th February 2000)

Heather had been looking forward to Marcia's party for weeks. According to all predictions, it was going to be wild. Legend had it that Marcia's parties were always wild. The stories told by past attendees could be positively toe-curling. Apparently her shindigs set off as raunchy and steadily progressed to debauched. Like every single time. This one was guaranteed to be no exception. As usual, she was throwing it exclusively for students and it was subject to just one rule:

No men allowed!

"No men" was more of an attraction than a problem for Heather. She was at that exhilarating stage of life: nineteen years old and free to play the field. And good grief, wasn't she playing it well! She was here tonight hoping for at least one gratuitous sexual encounter. No, she was here expecting at least one gratuitous sexual encounter. Girls only? So what? Who needed a man for sex anyway? Not her. Her eyes had long ago opened wide. She'd come to university thinking that, fresh from five years of single-sex schooling, she knew it all. In fact she'd come thinking it might possibly be time to give blokes a bit of a go.

Silly idea, she'd soon concluded. Silly me.

The size and depth of the university's lesbian community still astounded her. After her first few days she'd realized that her schoolmates had been mere girls, experimenting in the absence of boys. Mere slips of girls; and ones very tentatively experimenting, at that. Suddenly, in this exciting new setting, she was surrounded by grown women with a vast range of experiences, tastes and preferences. Realizing exactly where she'd happy-landed had given her a massive thrill. Experiences, tastes and preferences needed to be fully explored, she'd decided.

Sod blokes! Blokes could wait . . . perhaps forever.

Marcia was a final year student with a large house. She had had housemates for a while but they'd dropped out, leaving her to pay the rent. Throwing what she called "a few big bashes" was her way of getting value for money. And if it worked for her it definitely worked for others: the place was rammed already, standing room only.

Out of habit, Heather attended the party alone. So too did a smattering of other guests, but most were paired-off. That was the drawback with clubs and societies, she reckoned. They fostered relationships, and relationships tended to discourage gratuitous sexual encounters. Not that every relationship was stuffy and hidebound . . .

Perhaps I can fix up a nice, no-strings tumble with one of the more adventurous, liberated couples. That would be fun, wouldn't it?

Heather smiled to herself as she went into the kitchen for more wine. Her schoolmates at The Manor had been almost exclusively well-to-do, most of them with well-pampered good looks. The women at this party came in all colours, shapes and sizes. A lot of them didn't particularly care about appearances. And rightly so, of course. Being textbook pretty didn't guarantee that a girl was perfect in bed, did it? Just as having a shaven head and hairy armpits didn't mean a girl wasn't brilliant at tribbing.

Sipping her drink Heather looked around, recognizing a few faces from previous encounters, exchanging nods and grins. Talking about shaven heads and hairy armpits, Angie was there, seemingly unaccompanied. Heather's heart had been in her mouth when the fierce-looking dyke approached her, back in her very first term. She didn't scare so easily and hadn't been physically intimidated, but she had wondered exactly what Angie wanted to do to her. The possibilities had seemed endless. Endless and, if not downright scary, just ever-so slightly unnerving. Somehow Heather had kept up her half of the conversation, politely saying "Oh, yes please" when the subject of sex came up.

She chuckled to herself. Oh, yes please! In a cut-glass, Manor accent! How frightfully posh of me!

Thank God she'd taken the opportunity. Angie hadn't been really fierce between the sheets. Her tribbing was forceful rather than violent. She was also prepared to lie back and take a big dose of her own medicine. And her huge appetite almost matched Heather's; they were both happy to keep clashing bodies for hours on end. As an added bonus, the girl sixty-nined even better than she tribbed.

Hmmm, it's been a while, hasn't it? I'll keep an eye on Angie Baby . . .

'Hiya.'

Heather was surprised by the voice behind her. She turned and immediately liked what she saw. The speaker was around her own age and nearly as tall as she was. She had absolutely gorgeous strawberry blonde hair that fell onto her shoulders, framing a face she'd stolen from an angel. No, she must have stolen it from a goddess, and one of the top-ranking goddesses at that. Dressed in jeans and T-shirt, like practically everyone else, she looked better than just good. Everything about her was yummy. She radiated health and sexuality.

'I'm Rita,' the girl went on.

'I'm Heather or Hev. You can take your pick.'

'Pleased to meet you, Hev.'

Rita was holding out her hand, smiling. Heather smiled back as she shook it, noting Rita held on a lot longer than necessary. That slightest bit of bodily contact was pleasant. Muscles were involuntarily twitching in appreciation; very intimate muscles.

Oh yes! Yes please!

'Nice to meet you, Rita,' she said smoothly. I haven't seen you on campus. Where have you been hiding?'

'I'm a late starter.' The blonde's smile was getting lovelier by the second. 'I've just transferred from Nottingham. I've seen you about, though. Once or twice, anyway. It's taken me until now to pluck up courage. To introduce myself, I mean.' She laughed, obviously not really lacking in courage or confidence. 'I don't know anyone else here apart from Marcia. And you look like a friendly port in a storm. As well as a very beautiful one.'

'Everyone here is beautiful,' said Heather. 'Some just show it in non-traditional ways.'

'I agree. But I'm not averse to traditional beauty. Not at this moment in time.'

So it was like that, was it? Heather could play that game. And some. 'You like the looks of me, do you?' she said brazenly.

Rita nodded. 'Take that as a yes.'

Heather studied the other girl, wondering how closely she'd experienced Marcia's tastes and preferences. Surely she had at least dipped a toe in the water. A straight girl wouldn't attend a party like this.

Or introduce herself like that . . .

Perhaps Rita was a mind-reader. 'I'm single and have no interest in blokes whatsoever,' she said. 'I don't want a commitment, but I also don't want to sleep on my own tonight. That's why I'm here, making a fool of myself in front of the most attractive woman I've ever met.'

That's us sorted, then, Heather thought, feeling the usual surge of anticipation.

'I can't say I've no interest in blokes,' she said aloud, 'but I'm definitely not looking for one at the moment. That's why I'm here, fancying the pants off you.'

'We're Mike and Ike on that, then.' Rita laughed again. 'Let's see if we're totally attuned. Do you want to sleep on your own tonight?'

'No.' Heather grinned. 'And I'm not going to. I'm sleeping with you.'

*****

Marcia intercepted them on their way to the Dancing Area (aka the lounge). 'Oh good,' she said to Rita, 'you've made a friend.' Then, frowning at Heather: 'Behave yourself, you. She's only a bairn.'

Rita snorted. 'Listen to you, Marce! You never asked to see my birth certificate.'

'That's because I'm famed for my self-restraint. This one's famed for not having any restraint at all.'

'I know. That's why I asked her to dance.'

'Dance!' Marcia shook her head. 'Excuse me, I have to go make sure nobody's copulating in the Smoking Area. Or smoking in the Copulation Area, come to that.'

As their hostess left them the strawberry blonde smiled at Heather. 'Technically, I don't think two girls can copulate.'

'There are ways, I'm sure. And I'm sure Marcia doesn't really mind. Just as long as nobody's smoking and copulating at the same time.'

Dancing together was fun, if more than a little sweaty. The lounge was packed and very lively. At first the music was all by t.A.T.u. and in Russian. Then a new DJ must have gained control of the CD player because there was a sudden shift to k.d. lang. This resulted in a shift to quite intimate, body-to-body dancing. Heather took that as her cue to close in for a kiss. Rita wasn't in the least adverse. She welcomed her with open arms and a probing tongue. Later (a whole LP later) they broke for air.

'Another drink?' asked Heather.

'What about visiting the Copulation Area?'

'What about another drink and then visiting the Copulation Area?'

Someone had opened the door and it was pleasantly cool in the kitchen after the stuffiness of the lounge. At Heather's suggestion they leant against a work surface and downed a couple of cans of Carlsberg each.

'I like Marcia's attempt at recycling,' she said.

Rita laughed. There were three bins in the backyard and three black dustbin liners hanging on hooks. The bins were for bottles and colour-coded: green for the green ones, brown for brown and white for transparent. The dustbin liners were ready to be filled with cans. Or rather, they were already well on their way to being filled with cans.

'Is the council a bit particular round here?'

'Not that I've noticed.' Heather finished her second lager and pegged the empty can into the nearest bin bag. 'I think Marcia's just doing her bit to save the planet.' Then, grinning: 'How do you know her, anyway?'

'She picked me up in the Communal Bar. Or maybe I picked her up.'

Heather's heart was starting to pound. It always did when she was on the verge of conquering new ground. Or being conquered, come to that. 'I bet you did the picking up,' she said. 'You're a fast operator.'

'Let's just say me and Marce got together quickly and mutually.'

'Just the once?'

'More than once.' It was Rita's turn to grin. 'I like older women.'

'So do I,' Heather admitted. 'Is there any commitment there?'

'No, as I said, I'm single. We just have plenty of consensual sex.'

'Speaking of which, let's go look for somewhere more private.'

There were two other rooms downstairs as well as the kitchen and lounge. One had a sign on the door saying:

SMOKING AREA

Bypassing it, they went through the one signed:

COPULATION AREA

CLOSE THE DOOR

BEHIND YOU!!

Heather hadn't really expected to find "somewhere more private". And it was just as well. The Copulation Area was decent-sized but crammed with mismatched furniture, most of it already occupied by amorous couples. Thick curtains were drawn and the lights were off. The smell of fanny juice was heavy in the air.

'There,' said Rita, pointing. 'A love seat waiting especially for us.'

Heather thought it looked more like a twin seat pinched from an old cinema. It even had thick red upholstery. It was the best untaken seat in the house though, as well as the only untaken seat in the house. She shut the door and they fumbled towards it in the resultant pitch-black, laughing when it rocked alarmingly.

'Marcia must have left one of its legs in the theatre,' Rita said.

Heather kissed her again. Rita returned the kiss in spades and, for a blissful while, they tried to snog each other into oblivion, the seat rocking and lurching under them. Then, intrigued by background sounds, Heather had a nosy.

All that moaning and groaning! And I thought I got carried away!

By day the room was probably used as a study, and a spacious one at that. Right now it was as packed as the Dancing Area. All the downstairs seating had been moved in and arranged to make nests for those with romantic intentions. And it was obvious that Marcia's efforts had not gone unappreciated. As well as herself and Rita, four other couples were appreciating the facilities, probably all within arm's reach of each other. From certain tell-tale sounds, Heather guessed her immediate neighbours were engaged in fingering. And, from the glimpse she had had before she shut the door, she knew below jobs were not outlawed. Sadly, however, it was just too dark; her eyes couldn't adjust. Within arm's reach or not, it was impossible to see who was doing what, exactly.

Then one of the nearest pair suddenly urged, 'Yes, fuck me, yes! Faster! Harder!'

Her partner obliged. Those tell-tale sounds stepped up, becoming quicker, louder and much more liquid.

'Yes,' the first woman endorsed. 'That's it! That's it! Fuck me, yes! Don't stop! Whatever you do, don't stop!' Then she screamed and abruptly shut up.

'Yes, that's it,' a new voice cried, breaking the resultant silence. 'That's amazing! Fucking yes, yes, yes!'

Well, Heather thought, when in Rome . . .

Rita's jeans fastened the orthodox way. An unseen person let out a small cheer when Heather noisily pulled down the zip. Not to be outdone, Rita unbuttoned Heather's button-up flies.

'Okay,' she murmured, 'you first.'

There was no need for a second invitation. Heather dipped her hand into the blonde's jeans, overcoming an acute sense of urgency and inching her way onwards, into her knickers. Rita was as smooth as a baby's bum down there. It was easy-peasy to feel where everything was. And the goal at that moment was a modest one: Rita's magic button. Heather quickly found it then paused, wondering how sensitive she was.

'Do me,' Rita whispered into her ear. 'Do me now.'

Heather had barely begun when her own knickers were invaded. She was shaved as smooth as a baby's backside as well. Rita found her magic button in no time at all. Then urgency took over and they were frantically stimulating each other, stimulating each other, stimulating each other, making the seat rock and lurch ever more alarmingly.

'Yes, yes, yes,' the blonde endorsed.

'Nice, nice, nice,' Heather agreed.

As a first attempt it was a roaring success. Their climaxes were just about simultaneous and better still, they were powerful. Heather's was, anyway. And Rita's couldn't have been so bad; she wriggled about as if she was trying to break the seat altogether.

Still heavy-breathing, Heather inched her hand a little lower and slipped two fingers into Rita's baking hot honeypot. Rita followed suit. Unsurprisingly, they were both utterly sopping.

'Mmmm,' Heather murmured after leisurely, audibly sucking her fingers. 'Sugar and spice. Get your jeans off. I'm going to drink your well dry.'

'My place,' her conquest/conqueror said, not bothering to murmur. 'I will need something solid under me if you're going diving in my well. Let's go right now. There's no time to lose.'

'That's the spirit,' someone (perhaps that unseen cheerer) observed. 'Give her one for me.'

They refastened themselves and left, almost bumping into two girls on their way in. 'Sophie,' said Heather, recognizing one of them, 'you have to try that seat over there. It'll give you the rollercoaster ride of your life.'

'Even better than the one you gave me?'

'Best in your life, hon. I guarantee it.'

The Cloakroom Area was upstairs, doubling as a spare bedroom. While Rita headed for the heap of coats on the bed Heather flicked down the light switch. Nothing happened.

Strange, it worked earlier. Maybe some penniless student nicked the bulb.

Hev!' Rita's voice was a strangled hiss.

Heather approached the far side of the bed, scooping up her jacket on the way. The new set of sex noises grew louder as she neared its source. Seeing a couple tribbing on a narrow strip of carpet didn't come as a shock.

'Hello, hello, hello,' she said loudly. 'I know that slinky ass!'

And she did. Even in the gloom of the poorly lit room it was unmistakably Angie's. Not that it was particularly slinky. It was more muscly and manlike than slinky. Taking no notice of her audience at all, Angie continued to hump away, going at it hard. Heather couldn't see a lot of the woman below her. She was on her back, legs spread, taking it like a trooper. It might just be Dianne under there, if she'd trimmed her head with a number 1 guard since yesterday.

'Go Angie,' Heather endorsed. 'Give her some!'

'Hev.' Rita was tugging her arm. 'We should get out of here.'

'Yeah,' Angie grunted, her voice gruffer than ever. 'Eff off, Hunter.'

'Not until you've made her cum.' Heather turned to Rita. 'Find your coat. This won't take long.'

Rita obeyed then stood slightly behind Heather, fidgeting nervously. The woman on her back had, meanwhile, changed her tune. From grunts and groans she'd gone to, 'Ah, ah, ahh!' She sounded like a classy singer practicing her scales, albeit an abbreviated version.

'Ah, ah, ahh!

'Ah, ah, ahh!!

'Ah, ah, ahh!!'

Heather knew the end was nigh when the unknown woman started to wave her hands about. She looked as if she honestly didn't know what to do with them. Grab Angie? Grab the nearby bedcovers? Grab herself? She clearly couldn't decide and ended up snatching at thin air.

Then she climaxed violently, her superhuman strength nearly but not quite dislodging Angie's sturdy frame.

'Way to go, Angie Baby!' Heather made for the exit. Rita was already there, pulling the door fully open from merely ajar. Aided by lighting out in the corridor, Heather looked back inside. Angie was on her knees, staring after her, her face red with lust. Of her latest victim there was no sign.

'Don't run away,' Angie called. 'Come back here. I'll do you as well.'

'Sorry babe, I've places to go, people to see.' Heather grinned at the skinhead. 'I'll make time for you next week,' she said sincerely. 'Consider yourself on a promise.'

'Wednesday,' Angie replied, giving her the finger as if fondly waving farewell. 'Eight o'clock in the Union. Don't be late.'

'I'll be there, wearing a white carnation,' Heather assured her.

Marcia was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. 'Have you seen Angie? Dolores says she's had her girlfriend stolen.'

'There's someone making an awful stink in the bathroom,' Heather fibbed. 'I don't think it'll be Dolores's girlfriend, but it might well be Angie.'

'I'll get the air freshener.' Marcia grimaced. Then, noticing the coats: 'You're not going before I've done my world-famous striptease!'

'We've clicked,' Rita said, smiling.

'I told you would.' By some sorcery a key appeared in Marcia's hand. 'But you don't have to go. You can borrow my room. I'm rationing it strictly, but you can have it 'til midnight. Then you can cheer me on. Or rather, off.'

'Thanks, but no thanks,' said Rita. 'What we've got planned is going to take all night.'

Heather whistled softly. A girl after her own heart!

Then Marcia was rounding on her. 'I meant what I said. She's only a bairn.'

'Marce, I'll take care of her. I promise.'

'Okay.' Marcia sighed then held out her clenched fist. 'Solidarity, sister.'

'Solidarity,' Heather replied, bumping knuckles.

Outside in lovely, refreshingly cold air she reached for her phone. Rita shook her head. 'It's hardly five minutes' walk away. We'll get there before the fastest taxi.'

Hand in hand, they fell into step.

'What's this solidarity business?' Rita wondered. 'Are you in some secret society?'

'Only the not-so-secret society of female humanity. You know, the one with over three billion members worldwide.' Heather chuckled. 'It's a saying more than anything else. Like "Blessed be".'

'Is that another female thing? I'm missing out, here. I'm sure I am.'

'"Blessed be" is a Wiccan saying, although it goes back to ancient times.'

'Wiccan?' said Rita. 'That's witches, isn't it?'

'That's right. I went to school in Cheshire. There was a Welsh coven quite nearby.'

'You're having a laugh, right?'

'Only slightly. My best friend from school is the wickedest witch I'm ever likely to meet. Not that she was ever in a coven.' Heather laughed. 'She didn't need to be.'